White Butterfly
by DissertationCanWait
Summary: I wrote this fic at 5am after having a really vivid MMFD related dream. Some parts of this story are taken from that dream and expanded upon. This is an AU fic and a mixture of the TV series and the book. In my mind, Finn is Haddock and Chop is Battered Sausage. TW: Drug use and sex. Quite a dark one, this, with some surreal elements due to it being dream based. Be warned.
1. Faster the Chase

Haddock's sitting on the sofa behind them, Rae and Battered Sausage sitting on the coffee table. Battered Sausage has his arms resting on his knees, his legs open as he smiles down at his joined hands. He has a tablespoon hanging from his pierced ear, something he'd made from one of Rae's earring fixtures and the spoon he'd bent and broken in the garage one night, soldered together in the abandoned workshop there. Rae's looking away, at and past the playing TV as Haddock falls into a restless sleep, out of it. Their living room is dim and trashed, as it always is. The walls look like they've been scorched.

"What do you wish for, Rae?" Battered Sausage asks, looking at her. She looks at him in return, but again, seems to be looking _past _him. She answers him after a beat passes, sighing in half frustration, half warn out amusement.

"I wish I could see you as only a brother. I wish I could just love you like a brother but…I don't. I can't." she says, regretful. Battered Sausage smiles all too knowingly, pride lining his eyes that repulses Rae for a second. He looks away, back down at his hands as Rae returns her attention to the TV. The silence stretches between them all, and Rae knows Haddock isn't asleep, her words ensuring he'd keep conscious, listening to them both converse like a hawk. She doesn't look at him - doesn't want to. Battered Sausage speaks, tentative and slow, but steady and sure all at once.

"If you want, Rae, I can take you upstairs. We can go for it; I'll do ya. I've got johnnies, like, and I've got a big dick, so I've been told by other girls. Quite proud of it, actually." Battered Sausage looks at her, wringing his hands and smiling briefly, his gappy teeth showing before he face sags back into its previous inquisitiveness. Rae doesn't look back, keeping her eyes past the TV as she shakes her head slightly, her face lined with emotional exhaustion. She doesn't know what she's still doing there.

"Are you angry at me?" Haddock asks Rae from behind them, fatigued misery evident in his tone. His voice is also tinged with fear, but pain is the most prevalent feature and it pulses off him in waves. Rae's heart sinks, and she hates how Haddock still effects her after all this time. She wishes more than anything that her heart could be made of cold stone, that she didn't still love the fucked up boy laying, near comatose behind her.

"She says she wants my body, mate…not my balls." Battered Sausage says with a huff of amusement, knowing the dynamics of the three of them better than anyone. That's how he always referred to relationships: "She's got him by the balls." - yet Rae knew he didn't mean it like that, not quite.

Battered Sausage ups and leaves straight after the exchange, and Rae wishes he didn't. She hated being alone with Haddock and still refuses to look at him. She decides to follow Battered Sausage out, and she wonders if Haddock thinks she's taking him up on his offer. Part of her hopes he does. Part of her wants to punish him for the pain he's caused her.

—-

They're snorting from the washing machine again, the pair of them. Rae watches unseen from the garage door, Battered Sausage standing behind Haddock as the latter cuts the lines from a seat in front of it. That was one of their chosen surfaces, mainly because it was hidden away in the garage in the terrace house the three of them shared, but also because the washing machine could be pushed back against the wall, covered by a shelf, hidden.

She doesn't know why she watches them exactly, but she suspects it's because she wants to see the glint of hope in Haddock's eyes, the flash of excitement that he used to have when he beheld her, but now only had for the white line in front of him, as well as a cocktail of other hard drugs. The two teens had sunk so low, coke was considered lighter stuff now, if anything.

The boys laugh after they've snorted the stuff, Rae's stomach twisting in revulsion before she leaves, walking to her bedroom, sagging further and further into the familiar hold of misery with every step, an emotion so often felt it was twisting and turning into emptiness. With each day that passes, she feels more numb, and she's glad of it.

She knows Haddock will try and get into her room, had bought a lock for her door ever since the first night he'd tried it on. She had to near knock him out to get him off her, his need for her relentless and angry, but his weakened body no match for Rae's strength. It's a miracle Rae has managed to stay a virgin, she thinks, what with both Haddock and Battered Sausage after her, albeit the latter's attempts rarer and more light hearted. If Haddock hasn't succeeded in forcing himself on her yet, Rae wonders how she's managed to resist him for so long herself. She's proud of herself, proud of her moral strength and her sense, proud that she's managed to resist the drugs and the sex with Haddock and Battered Sausage, all temptations of varying power. If she has nothing else, she has that, her self respect and her purity, and the knowledge that when she does decide to get out of there, all she'll be taking with her is her heartbreak.

Her Mum's ready for her, back at home with their old cat and her foreign step father. That'd be her refuge for a while, but Rae knows she couldn't stay there for long, the presence of her two housemates still too near. She spends her time fantasising about where she'll end up going, hoping she'd maybe find another roommate, a friend to distract her from the mire of her thoughts. She'd get a job - a good job, a safe job, worlds away from the dark back alleys and jail bate dole merchants who dealt to her friends, the shady underbelly of Lincolnshire she's been haplessly exposed to. She dreams of bright days, of sweet smells and clean walls, of uncluttered carpets and clean faces.

Such fantasies replaced the ones she'd always had, the dream that Haddock and Battered Sausage would get better, would fight this horrible addiction and get well. They replaced the hope of Haddock and her getting together, being properly together, Haddock's love pure and untainted by chemically charged lust. The dreams have become dimmer with every passing month, and now in her fantasies there was only herself. Yet still, she stays. She couldn't leave them, not quite yet.

Sure enough, Haddock's at her door a few minutes later, his knock half hearted but his intensions undiminished. Rae wonders if he'll try and break the door down again as he had before, the coke making him feel invincible. She'd reinforced the door herself with thick planks of wood she'd found in the garden shed, ensuring Haddock's attempts failed, his body covered in bruises for at least a week afterwards. Once, he'd knocked himself out trying, Rae not realising until she opened the door the next morning, eyes dry and sticky with old tears, only to have Haddock fall into her bedroom after being slumped against the door, blood dripping from his head and onto the carpet. She'd fixed him up, ever their nurse. Haddock had tried to kiss her then as he often did, tearfully telling her how much he loved her, on the come down.

"You don't love me. You love drugs." Rae had repeated, a flat and soulless mantra. Haddock would always meet it with his own mantra of whispered denials, the word "No" repeated as he shook his head, face crumpling.

"Rae! Let me in, please."

Rae covers her ears. Sometimes he wouldn't speak at all, would only try the door handle and leave. Those were the good nights. Tonight, however, he's vocal.

"Rae! Please Rae…I just want to talk. I won't ask anything of ya…I just need to see ya…I just need…" The vehemence of his tone decreases steadily before his head lolls against the door with a thunk.

"Why won't you let me fuck you, Rae? Why?" his tone is hopeless and desperate, and for the millionth time Rae resists the urge to open the door, to hold him close and comfort him, his tone the only thing that translates as she's numb to his harsh words. Instead she stays silent, back pressed against her headboard as the tears fall as if of their own accord, and she wonders how she could have any tears left to cry after so long.

"Rae? It'd be good, I promise. I know you'll enjoy it…I'll make you cum and everything…I'll be gentle…just give me a chance…" he repeats, a tactic tried before. His words are so ridiculous and would never be spoken when he's sober, and Rae wonders if he's even capable of being sober any more. She struggles to remember a Haddock that made sense, who wasn't this shell of a person who operated on base instincts and violence.

Rae knows if she speaks it'll just ignite his fire, her voice a trigger for him. She knew he'd get angry of his own accord anyway. She'd tried drowning him out with music before, but it somehow made things worse as she didn't know what he was doing, couldn't hope to guess. He could have been unhinging the door with a screwdriver for all she knew. She wonders if the pocket taser in her bed side drawer would be enough to stop him if he ever got through. She hopes it will never come to that.

He's there for a half an hour more, only tries to knock down the door once. He seems too tired to shout, but he's said her name so much she's sick of the sound of it. He only blows up at the last second.

"Fine then, you frigid bitch - I don't need you. There's plenty of girls out there who would kill for me to shag 'em. I'm going out, and I'm bringing back a girl and I'm going to screw her. You've had your chance and you've blown it. I'm done w'you. Fuck you Rae. Fuck you."

His last words are dripping in venom, and she can visualise him size up the door like it's a random yob starting on him in a bar. She also knows he's standing there for a few seconds more, hoping she'd erupt in jealousy and relent, she guessed. When nothing happens, he kicks the door before retreating and the front door slams moments later. She continues to weep, the photo of the three of them before any of this shit happened pinned on the wall beside her, taunting her. There aren't any bags underneath Haddock and Battered Sausage's eyes, the pair of them meatier, no bones jutting out, only muscled physiques. Haddock's skin is brown, a natural tanner, a contrast to the ghostly, clammy paleness of his skin now. She doesn't know how long she's looking at the photo before Haddock returns, the sound of a girl giggling making her chest seize up. She's run out of tears, considering leaving the house, going for a walk to escape the performance Haddock has lined up for her. She doesn't, though. She stays and she listens. She listens to the pair of them ascend the stairs, the smacking of their lips as they kiss, the creaking of Haddock's bed, the delighted moans of the girl Haddock's managed to nab, Haddock's own grunts he makes dramatically louder for Rae's benefit.

Rae looks at the moon through her window, one last dream of Haddock forming in her mind, an image of he and Rae making love in a sun drenched bedroom, his soft, smooth lips dipping to kiss her before he looks at her with happy ecstasy, eyes bright and vivid like they used to be. She imagines his arms wrapping around her, skin bereft of track marks and bruises, strong, clean hands cupping her face with tenderness, all sanity and innocence, sobriety and health.

The sound of Haddock's girl's screaming orgasm brings Rae back to reality, and she sags, a wry, humourless smile forming. She allows herself this one last fantasy, and it would be her last, that much she knows.

—-

She hopes to slip away before Haddock or Battered Sausage catch her, Haddock and the girl still sleeping, all tangled limbs and shamelessly exposed flesh. Haddock must have heard the front door close, however, because he's out the front with her soon enough, wearing nothing but a pair of trackies and an oversized Stone Roses t-shirt stolen from Rae a while ago. She wonders if he even remembers taking it.

Battered Sausage is asleep in the front garden, not quite making it inside after a night of god knows what. She doesn't want to wake him.

"Your room's empty." Haddock says as the taxi driver helps Rae load her bags into the boot. She doesn't look at him, wondering if simply meeting his eyes would make her want to stay.

"I'm leaving now. It's gonna stick this time." she says, needlessly. She wonders if Haddock's going to protest, but they both know there's nothing he can feasibly do.

"Where will ya go?" he asks, quietly. Rae shrugs, loading another hold all in the back seat.

"Dunno. Away from you…away from him…" she gestures to Battered Sausage, who's still snoring, his t-shirt bloodstained. "…I don't care where, really."

"You going back to your Mum's?" he asks, as if making casual conversation. Rae resists the urge to laugh, wondering if she was even capable of the act any more. She shakes her head instead.

"I'm going where neither of you can find me." she states, forcing herself to look at Haddock, wanting to prove to herself that this was the end, that he had no power over her any more. His lips are smeared with lipstick, his hair mussed. He attempts to nod, but only manages a small jerk of his head.

"So that's it then?" he asks, glancing at Rae before his eyes fall to the floor. The edges of his face constrict in visible pain, but he suppresses it, forcing a look of nonchalance. His eyes are glistening as he looks back up in time for Rae to nod.

"Yeah." she concludes, glancing down at Battered Sausage one last time before making her way to the passenger seat. Haddock follows her purposefully before pausing at the open door, looking up the street, squinting, before pulling off his t-shirt and throwing it on Rae's lap in one swift movement. Rae looks down at it for a few seconds before moving to grab the door handle, Haddock hesitating before stepping back, allowing Rae to shut it.

She doesn't touch the t-shirt as the car drives away, and her heart dips as she hears her name being called from behind the moving car, obscured by the engine whirring. She looks in the side mirror before looking behind her, Haddock sprinting across the road towards the cab. She tries to make out what he's saying other than her name but can't, and still he runs, determined and on the verge of tears.

"Do you want me to stop?" the cab driver asks when he notices. Rae shakes her head immediately, throat thick.

"No. Keep driving." she chokes out, Haddock gaining on them. Still looking behind her, she rolls down the window and chucks her old t-shirt out onto the road before turning away, closing her eyes tight and clamping her hands on her ears to drown out his now clearer pleas. She catches the words: "…live without you!" before she does so, assuming it followed 'I can't' and she lets out a long, shaky sigh, longing for the driver to go faster. The cab driver nudges her after a few minutes, indicating it's safe to uncover her ears and open her eyes. She's met with only the sound of the streets as they pass her, the only remains of Haddock's voice being the echoes in her memory.


	2. Chamber

Haddock's built a nest for himself in Rae's old room. It wasn't always Rae's - it was his Nan's bedroom once, the biggest of the three rooms upstairs. That's how he and Battered Sausage could remain unemployed, because of his Nan's hefty inheritance of the house and a shit load of cash. She'd left him everything, didn't give his parents a penny of her accumulated wealth, the subsequent fallout ensuring Haddock's parents had nothing more to do with him after she died. Haddock couldn't remember loving anyone more than he'd loved his Nan. He couldn't remember much of anything from his life before he tried his first dose of heroine, to be sure, but he could remember the love he felt for her. Not many people had loved him during his seventeen years; in fact, he could count them all on one hand.

His Nan - the only member of his family who gave a shit about him, the one member of his family who actually _cared, _save his 3 year old cousin Sean, number 2, who adored him and vice versa. That was the age Sean was when he saw him last - 2. He'd be nearly 6 now, Haddock notes as he melts the heroine on the blackened teaspoon, sitting with his legs crossed on the thick salmon coloured carpet, his chemistry set surrounding him. He'd probably have no idea who he is, would have no recollection of the older cousin who used to play with him in his back garden.

Then there's Battered Sausage, his best friend since childhood, honorary brother and occasional rival. It'd been Battered Sausage who first introduced Haddock to the drugs, his older brother introducing them to him before that, a destructive inheritance of his own. Haddock can't remember why he became an addict. He remembers being asked why. He's always asked why - what's made him 'sink so low,' what's lead him to 'ruin his life' in such a complete way. He doesn't know how to answer. Grief is his best guess. He lost his Nan, he felt like shit and drugs made him feel good. It didn't need to be anything more than that, he supposed. Then he got lost in it, lost in the rhythm of the endless supply, the parties, the highs, the lows - it became a part of him and he couldn't see a way out. He isn't willing to change for anyone, and if anybody asks him to try, he always says the same thing:

"If I ain't changing for Rae, you haven't got a hope in fuckin' hell."

Rae, the last on the list of four. She did love him once, Haddock knew. He still remembers the first time he saw her, the look on her face, adorably bowled over. Haddock was used to girls obviously fancying him, but with Rae the swell of pride he felt was a little stronger. 'Love at first sight' - that's how she described it, not to him, but in her diary. She kept a diary and Battered Sausage had found it when they were drunk one night, had snuck into her room when she wasn't in, pulled it out and read it to Haddock like a bed time story. Haddock remembered Battered Sausage's eyes flickering, his mischievous smile sagging as he read the passage out, and Haddock pulled the book from him and read the declaration himself, his heart pounding.

_Diary, he's the most gorgeous boy I've ever clapped my eyes on. Tight 'grunge is dead' T, baggy jeans, plaid shirt tied around his waist - an Adonis if ever I saw one. I think I'm in love. _

Battered Sausage didn't want to read anymore, had slouched away with a bitter "Who keeps a fucking diary, anyway? Is she 8 years old or what?" so Haddock read the rest, didn't tell Battered Sausage about the stuff Rae had written about him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing Haddock had also felt his fair share of jealousy over her lustful thoughts.

_Battered Sausage rating: Slice. A cheeky chappy with the bluest eyes I've ever seen. They're like small, round oceans. He's so sweet and funny - would definitely do a few thousand romances on that boy. _

She had no idea they'd read any of it, and Haddock had to keep the knowledge of her feelings for him a silent secret. Sometimes she'd unknowingly reveal them, like the time they played spin the bottle during a house party and Haddock's hope the bottle would land on Rae proved true. Her lips on his lingered and Haddock held her to him for a few seconds too long until Battered Sausage pushed himself between them under the guise of playful jest, fooling everyone but Haddock. He'd been more reserved, he remembered, had kept his cool when Battered Sausage had taken Rae into the 'cupboard of lust' as he called it, sat silently with his fists clenched as they snogged for 30 seconds behind the slatted doors. He hadn't managed to keep his cool when he clocked the rosy pink of her cheeks when she'd emerged, however. He'd got back at her, in his mind, took one of the other girls at the party into the garden and fucked her against the wall behind the shed. Rae had spotted them after they'd got back into the house, putting two and two together as she scanned her eyes over their dishevelled clothes and the gravel in the girl's hair. Haddock remembered the look on her face, the wave of hurt passing over it followed by a hopeless attempt to bury it. He instantly regretted his actions as he watched her well up silently before making her excuses and heading to bed. He'd wanted to follow her, to explain himself, to apologise, but he knew it was pointless. The drugs came soon after, the hard stuff being introduced after a few carefree months of drink and pills, and nothing was resolved after that night. Rae only learned of Haddock's true feelings when they were masked with slurs and probing hands, and she'd doubted them.

"I wasn't enough for ya, was I. If you really loved me, I'd be enough for you." she'd said. He knew what she was referring to - she'd moved in after his Nan died, wanted to be there for him, unlike Battered Sausage who was only interested in the rent free lodging. They were the days when Haddock truly fell for Rae. She was there at the funeral, had defended him whenever he was accosted by a family member, had hugged him tight as he cried onto her shoulder, had held his hand in the church as he looked miserably at the floor, face tear streaked…

She'd scattered earth onto the coffin with him, and in Haddock's heart she was and always would be his girl. She tried to be there for him in the following months, but she couldn't be around all the time. He'd fallen into the drugs in her absence, had ignored her pleas for him to stop, was too far gone to listen to anyone. As the hard stuff gradually poisoned his body, so did it poison his relationship with Rae further still, and their dance around each other no longer resembled the game of fun it once was.

It seems only right that Haddock has hidden himself away in the room that was occupied by the two most important women in his life. He didn't think that deeply into it, though - he simply needs to be there, to be where Rae once was. He's grateful for the reinforced door, because much as it was used to keep Haddock out initially, it's now used to deter Battered Sausage, who knocks on the door every day, trying to get Haddock out to attend one of the nightly parties he's hosting.

"Come on! What the fuck are ya playing at? Look, fuck Rae - she's gone. She's history. There's other fish in the sea, mate! It doesn't end with her! Loadsa hot girls downstairs - take your pick!"

"Look, she ain't coming back. I tried trackin' her down and no-one knows where the fuck she is. You're just going to have to get over it…"

"What about me, ay? I'm still here, ya know. I ain't bailing like she did…"

Sometimes when Haddock wakes up in the middle of the night, he could swear Rae's standing over him, a shadow standing sure next to the bed until it fades, falls away like running water. He hates himself for the explosion of hope that hits him, the rush of excitement only half consciousness could conjure. Sometimes the hopeless longing gets too much, the memory of the last time he saw her digging into his mind like needles along with the memories of his wrong doings. Then he'll just get high, by whatever means necessary, and the cycle continues.

The leather is between his teeth and he injects with an expert hand, and it falls from his bite with the familiar rush as he ascends into the sky. _Fuck._

He found her pink pen under her pillow the day she left, the crystal heart glowing as he presses the nib against the wall in his fevered memory. The scrawl on the cream wallpaper becomes sharper as he surveys the room, like vivid blue string tied around glowing white neon. The light of the pen trails as he moves it, when he thinks back. He can't remember what he's been writing, doesn't care - he doesn't care about anything. Everything's good. Everything's fucking amazing, actually. Beautiful, overwhelmingly so. He finds the pen in his hand and he can't remember getting it, figuring it was always close by. He presses the nib down on the carpet to see the heart glow again, on, off, on, off, the light lingering so it's always there, really. He doesn't care when the light fades, doesn't care that the bulb's on its last legs, flickering to an inevitable stand still. He holds the pen to him as he lays back, the pink still burned into his retinas as he smiles at the images projected onto the dampened ceiling. He can dimly hear Battered Sausage knock on his door again, but he can't really hear what he's saying. The music thumping downstairs fades, the laughing chatter along with it, shrinking into dulled white noise as he rides it out, his blood stream thrumming with an indescribable pleasure that could never hoped to be matched.

It's going…all too soon, it's going, and Haddock wobbles to his feet before writing on the wall with his last few drops of energy, plunging onto her sheets straight after, breathing in hard and trying to smell her before his gut bubbles in frustration at being unable to.

She's here. She is…he can't be imagining it this time. She's here and she's tangible, so much so he can feel her warmth reach him from where she stands. He's fallen out of the bed, just as well seeing as she's here to claim it back as rightfully hers. He wants to speak, to tell her that he won't bother her any more now she's home. He wants to say that he's sorry, desperately, but his mouth's so dry he feels it might crack if he opens it. He's on his side, slumped. He can't move - he wants to, but he can't. He just stays still and looks at her red converse shoes through heavy eyelids. Not for long, as he feels her hand encircle his forearm before she pulls it towards her. He's being pulled across the carpet now, by Rae, and he longs to hear her speak, to hear her voice. He closes his eyes and when he opens them he can see her face and feel the soft fabric of her leggings against the back of his head. The room's swirling a bit, the corners darker than usual as he lays there, head resting on Rae's thigh on the floor, her legs spread in a v shape, Haddock cacooned in the space between them. She moves her hand to his forehead, her palm resting against his wet hair, and he closes his eyes once more at her touch, falling into it. He could cry, but he won't - why would he? She's home and she's with him, where she belongs. The silence in the room is deafening - he can't even hear her breathe, and he knows the sound all too well. He doesn't want to move, so he's glad that they aren't. He has no sense of time, but this is longer than a second, longer than a minute - it feels like hours, in fact, and he's so glad of it, really. She's moving her hand slowly, stroking and soothing, and Haddock blindly grasps for her other hand before pulling it to his chest, holding it there. His slow heartbeat against her palm is a ticking clock, counting down the seconds until she pulls it away.

He feels himself being lifted by her, his pillow gone and replaced with the carpet once more. He feels her arms wrap around his shoulders and wants her to fold him up and put him in her pocket, to take him with her wherever she goes, just in case she decides to run away again. He could collapse in on himself in her gentle embrace, but all too soon the warmth of it disappears, his skin cold at the sudden absence. When he prays for its return he's answered, but now her warmth is all over his body, her face inches from his as she lays herself on top of him. She isn't heavy - he'd spent hours imagining what she'd feel like if she was on top of him like this, the pressure of her body constricting his breath, pushing him deeper into the mattress, a detail that made his fantasies all the sweeter whenever he'd masturbated. Not now, though - it isn't like that. He can barely feel her there, and he uses all the concentration he can muster to better sense her body. Her name is at the back of his throat but it still refuses to pass over his tongue. The warmth of her breath ghosts him, even if he still can't hear her breathe. Her eyes are vibrant even in the dim light of the room and he drinks them in, absorbs the sight and imprints it onto his memory, the glistening hazel searching his gaze adoringly. He can feel her smile, and he reaches his hands up to gather the fabric of her shirt in his fingers, grips it hard as if she was the only thing stopping him from falling from a great height. His shallow breathing stops as she dips her head, her lips touching his with such a painful tenderness it makes all the hairs on his body stand and sway. She pulls back, and it isn't enough, just as it's always never enough. He captures her lips in his with all his strength, forces his tongue inside her mouth with a strained groan, his voice raw from lack of use. Her mouth moistens his as she kisses him back, Haddock's head pressing further into the carpet as she pushes it down with the force of her fervour. His mind is filled with her name and a string of love declarations. For a moment he sees them from a height, a voyeur as they lay on the ragged carpet, Rae flush against him head to toe. He can't move his legs, but if he could he'd wrap them around her. Just as he thinks it, he finds he can move his legs, and they lift as if underwater, linking around her thighs until he's tangled himself up with her. He releases the fabric of her shirt to encircle her with his arms, and still he can only hear his own breath as he holds her in a vice. The heat between them increases, his stomach fluttering wildly and generating a slow moving pulse, throbbing through his muscles as the substance of the shape in his arm shifts, expanding and retracting in time with an imagined heart beat. He feels his arms sink into the fabric of her clothes until the layer's no longer there, sinking until the skin of his limbs is against her own warm flesh. His lips feel like they're on fire, and he doesn't know if it's him or Rae burning. It must be both of them. He doesn't need to surface for air and neither does she. Neither of them part to collect themselves, to gasp or pant, they only silently kiss in the lonely dark. It doesn't feel dark, though, not to Haddock, as a piercing light is forming behind his closed eyelids. They could be outside, under the beating sun, he thinks to himself, but the light doesn't burn as bright as in the aftermath of an injection of heroine. The light leaves soon enough, and with its departure brings with it the slow melting of Rae's skin. He's scared she's leaving, that she'll evaporate away, so he holds tighter, his arms sinking into her more and more until there's no longer any sense of physical shape or texture. She isn't evaporating, _he _is, he thinks, his body crackling into broken parts, powder, sand, rain, lifting into what now feels like melting tar. The last part of him that remains is his heart, which sears with tired elation as the moment transpires. This is it, he thinks, what he's always wanted. He's becoming part of her, part of Rae - they're becoming one, and he could be falling now, he thinks - plunging into a swirling expanse of space, lost, he pre-empts with growing fear, but he clings onto the warmth of the girl he loves and tries to feel safe.


	3. Safe in a Room

Battered Sausage has been partying for two weeks straight. Haddock's voice had woken him up at the beginning of the stint, his desperate shouting violently pulling him from his unsettling dreams as he laid stupefied in the front garden. He'd somehow pulled himself to his feet, the window cill a handy prop, the flower pot containing the dead sticks that were once pretty posies crashing to the ground and breaking as he slid it off. He didn't notice - didn't even hear it. All he heard was Haddock's sobbing in the distance and the beeping of a car horn. He'd squinted into the morning light, his head throbbing as he stumbled towards the road, the blurry figure of his best and and oldest friend coming into focus. He was only a dot at the end of the street, a car and a Royal Mail van behind him. Battered Sausage called his name, the sharp pain in his foot alerting him dimly to the fact that they were both bare. Undeterred, he made his way towards his friend, gravitating to him, on autopilot. As he neared, he saw Mrs Lowe from number 10 trying to calm a livid postman as he yelled at Haddock's oblivious, kneeling form.

"If you don't get out of the way I'm going to have to move you by force." he warned, Haddock only continuing to sob, mumbling something as his shoulders shook. Battered Sausage addressed the post man, not moving his transfixed gaze from Haddock's naked back.

"S'alright, I'm his friend."

Haddock hadn't protested much as Battered Sausage dragged him to the kerb, hadn't lashed out or turned himself to lead in his arms. It was Battered Sausage who took the dirty shirt from Mrs Lowe, Haddock laying down fully on the pavement, quietly hysterical. Feeling helpless, Battered Sausage only thanked his neighbour, who was unruffled to the point of apathy, completely used to the pair and the trouble they'd brought to the once quiet and pleasant cul-de-sac.

The shirt was Rae's, he knew. He also knew Rae had left, putting two and two together despite being hungover to shit. Haddock was in a right state, the soppy twat completely gone on this girl who'd now vanished, untraceably so.

A stab of pain hit Battered Sausage, a wave of misery enveloping him, making his throat thick. A tear teetered to the point of spilling, only making it to his drawn cheek when he caught Haddock sobbing out Rae's name. As quickly as it passed, he made every effort to swallow it down, deep, having no time for any of that 'feelings' bullshit. He chucked the muddied shirt on Haddock before making his way back to the house, swiftly wiping the tear from his face with the rough press of the ball of his hand en route. He only noticed the rain when he heard the tinny sound of it smash against the conservatory ceiling, the front door still open with no sign of Haddock. He stayed on the street for what felt like hours, Battered Sausage's friends alerting him to the fact with a lazy drawl as they entered the house, pockets filled with gear.

"What's he doing out in the street? Has he copped it?"

Battered Sausage shrugged out his feigned indifference again and again, drowning out his thoughts with loud music, drink, narcotics and a half hearted orgasm when the ginger haired stripper from Temptations gave him a blow job in the bathroom for a bag of H.

He felt the relief somewhere deep down when he saw Haddock come in, sopping wet and still shirtless, tear streaks masked by the rain drop paths written on his face, which was pale as death. He didn't acknowledge the fucked out greetings of his friends or the teasing jeers, only grabbed the spare cooking kit from the garage one handed, gathering it to him, his other hand clutching the soaked blue material of Rae's balled up shirt. Battered Sausage watched him, red giving up on him after hanging on his arm for a while and rejoining the rest of his friends. He followed Haddock as he walked to the stairs, keeping a distance but close enough to make his presence known. He addressed his retreating form only once.

"I got some already cooked for ya. Don't need to do it yaself."

He didn't know what he expected: Haddock to suddenly snap out of it, perhaps? To run down to the party with the bright cheeriness he'd once known, to say an animated "Yeah mate, sounds good! Let me just dry myself off then we can party the fuck on." - giving Battered Sausage a sure pat on the back and a cheeky grin along with it? That was old Haddock, the Haddock before his Nan died, the Haddock who was all protein shakes and football, moisturiser and muscle. He was long gone, didn't even exist anymore. All that was left was an emaciated shell of an 18 year old, retreating into his own miserable cocoon.

Battered Sausage had managed to try and convince him to come down and party with him every night, had stood outside the familiar door and pleaded with him in his own way.

He'd been mourning: no two ways about it. He may have been trying to deny it, trying to pretend he didn't give two shits about Rae, but he was lying to himself. Rae leaving had been a blow, and he needed Haddock then, needed somebody who understood, somebody to get fucked and try and forget with. He needed a distraction from the past mistakes that tormented him, the memories of the wrongs and ills he'd inflicted upon both Rae and Haddock in his time. He needed help in letting go of the guilt and the hurt, but Haddock was having none of it, seemingly. Battered Sausage had given up by day eleven, although he hasn't been keeping a proper track of time for at least six months.

Nobody's left, now, all party goers long gone. He's truly been abandoned, he thinks, and he snorts another line, surrounded by unspeakable mess and an icy silence. The music's stopped, and he's slipping in an out of sleep, his troubling dreams jolting him awake before he slips into them once more.

You'd think he wouldn't be able to smell anything after months and months of snorting coke. You'd think his nose would be so numb he wouldn't be able to smell the foul stench coming from upstairs, or even taste it like he can now. You'd think he'd be too fucked to comprehend the increasing acridity as he left the bomb site that is the front room to go upstairs and investigate.

You'd think he'd be too out of it to register the fear expanding in his chest as he reaches the door and knocks on it with all his strength. It's lucky in a way that coke had been the poison he'd most recently consumed, because if it had been anything else he might not have the mettle to break the door down with the sledge hammer from the garden shed, let alone drag it upstairs. By the same token, he'd prefer it if it had been a drug that numbed him more, that dulled his senses and marred his perception of reality, because he simply isn't prepared for the shock of what he's faced with as he steps over the chunks and shards of shattered wood towards his motionless friend. Maybe if his sense of smell hadn't have been temporarily heightened, he may not have found him for a day or two more.

He's slumped by his bed, as if he's fallen out of it, his head pressed against the carpet, hanging over his shoulders to the side, his arms squashed together, out in front of him at right angles. He could almost be praying if his hands were a little lower down, towards his open mouth which is lined with congealed vomit and froth.

The smell this close overwhelms Battered Sausage, tears springing to his eyes in an instinctive reaction to it. He covers his mouth and nose with one hand, urging against his palm. He paces back, looking up at the hallway ceiling in gradually increasing agony, closing his eyes tight as if the action would erase the scene behind him. He mumbles to himself, a mantra of denials and an agitated commentary which continues as he reopens his eyes, barely steeling himself before venturing back inside. He kicks Haddock's mini lab over as he steps closer and closer, as instinctively as he had done two weeks prior, when his friend was still breathing, kneeling in the street, consumed by misery but _alive_, at least.

He doesn't need to check Haddock's pulse, but he does anyway, tears of sadness joining the stinging tears of repulsion as he picks up the still, cold wrist between his thumb and forefinger before dropping it with a quiet thud, the sound punctuating the verdict.

Through his soaked lashes he clocks the room, adjusting to the darkness in time to take in the blue scrawls across the wallpaper. He steps on something - it's Rae's pink heart pen, centimetres from Haddock's partially open hand. In his shell shocked misery he catches a few of the near illegible sentences, words of apology, mainly, a letter to Rae going nowhere.

_If I could change I would. I would for you…_

_Rae, come home. I promise I'll leave you alone…I won't even talk to you, won't even look at you…just need you…need you here…_

_I know you don't love me, that's alright. I'll try and learn to stop loving you, I promise. _

_Not the same without you here. Everything feels wrong. _

_Rae. _

_Not felt this bad since Nan. _

_You're the only one who can save me…_

_Wish I could just see you one last time. _

_Rachel Earl. I know you don't like your full name, but I do. _

_Rae. Rae. _

_You're everything._

_Everything. No point without you. _

_I love you Rae. Please believe me. _

_I'm sorry. _

_I'm so fucking sorry. Please believe me, it's the truth. _

_Rae. Rae. Rae. Rae. _

The pleading words melt into nonsensical scrawl. Battered Sausage can't see Haddock's eyes in the darkness but he can imagine vividly their vacancy, brown orbs glassy as they stare at the door, waiting for Rae's return even in death.

He suddenly feels a wave of powerful anger hit him. He's angry at Rae for leaving. He's angry at himself for not being there to save his best friend, his brother. He's angry at the poisoned blood in his veins and angry at his weakness. He's angry at Haddock for leaving him, for giving up and losing his will. He's angry at the walls and the existence of love. He wants to erase everything, erase the walls and erase Haddock's pain along with his own. He wants to forget Rae ever existed and he wants somebody to blame other than himself.

He's not holding his nose now, not used to the smell but not registering much of anything to be bothered by it any longer. Too numb to speak, he walks like a zombie into his bedroom across the hall. It had been Haddock's uncles room before Battered Sausage took it over, and there had been a thick mahogany box filled with three bottles of old rum under the bed when he moved in, too manky looking to drink but too steeped in sentiment to throw away. Pulling out the box and opening it, he takes a bottle into each hand, uncorking them with his teeth as he walks back to Rae's old room, his jogging bottoms covered in dust. He lets himself break down as he pours, the grave panic taking over. He sniffs and sobs as the liquid sloshes onto Haddock's rotting body, the soiled bed, the carpet, the closed curtains, Battered Sausage's hot tears joining it as it soaks in. He makes sure to cover the walls with the stuff, looking around for something to light and throw into the room from the doorway. He sees a piece of paper by the foot of the bed, finding it to be a photograph of Haddock, Rae and himself from nearly a year before. He keeps his wet eyes on the image as he blindly picks up the lighter from the disturbed chemistry set in the centre of the room before walking to the door.

He doesn't recognise himself, or Haddock. He's looking at two completely different people, he thinks; three, in fact, because he can't remember the last time Rae had smiled like she is in the photograph. They look care free, healthy and happy, Haddock's cheek pressed affectionately against Rae's round face and Battered Sausage's arms wrapped around Rae's shoulders, possessively, almost. That memory and the time along with it had long since passed, burned away, much like the photo is burning now, lit at the corner and curling up, faces melting and blackening as Battered Sausage watches it disappear before him. He throws it before the flame reaches his finger tips, surprised to find the room going up as quickly as it does in the action movies he'd watched with his friends, back when the heaviest drug he'd take was pot.

The fire alarm really isn't working, Battered Sausage thinks as he leaves the burning room, a past conversation he'd had with Rae echoing in his mind as he descends the stairs.

_"That bloody fire alarm - have you changed the battery for it yet? One 'o'these days one of your fags is gonna kill us all as we sleep. You've seen the advert!" _

_"We haven't got another battery m'dear."_

_"Well go and get one then! It's not sodding rocket science. Wilko's have 'em, probably."_

The now destroyed photo sticks in his mind as he leaves the house, a glimmer of light entering his thoughts amidst the mixed up darkness. It'd been taken on a sweltering summer day, the three of them deciding to sit in a nearby field after school. Perhaps it's the heat jogging his memory, he wonders.

He remembers laughing, really laughing, at something Haddock had said that Rae pretended to be offended by. He remembers Rae slapping Haddock's arm and biting back with an even wittier remark, although he can't remember what was said exactly. He remembers feeling uncomfortable when he clocked Haddock's affectionate gaze on her, the awkward glance he'd shared with his friend straight after, a silently shared denial of attraction on both parts. Rae had sat there, oblivious, warming her face in the beating sun. Time seemed to slow in an entirely different way. It didn't drip by in a lumbering sludge, it glided along, patiently and gracefully, and Battered Sausage desperately wishes to go back to that moment as he looks up at the window, the flames bursting out of it aggressively, licking up and curling onto the roof above.

He can feel the tears growing stale on his face, the heat from the house drying them. He looks away, begins to walk up the street, his neighbours all milling on the pavements, looking up at his house with wide eyed fear. None of them notice Battered Sausage, not even the fire brigade as they screech past him, their flashing lights a blurred disco in Battered Sausage's weary gaze.


End file.
